Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart 3)

More than just living my life for the job. But I knew better than asking for more than that. I’d committed myself to making the world a better place after being a part of the problem for so long.

It was all I had to offer.

All I had to give.

My life was dangerous, and my mind was fucked up.

Soul bent.

Besides, I was the one who’d chosen to be a cop. Wasn’t fair to ask a woman to be okay with that, too, never knowing if I’d make it home at the end of the day.

On top of that? Only woman I’d wanted waiting for me was Izzy. And fuck, I wanted her. Wanted her in a way that just wasn’t rational. Just as bad as I had then.

Maybe more considering now I knew what it felt like to have to live without her.

So, there I sat, all spun up, craving something I knew full well I shouldn’t take, knowing I couldn’t risk getting involved with her again, and pretty much planning to take a bite out of her, anyway.

Mirena smiled one of her playful smiles. She’d been a waitress here for about as long as I’d been coming around.

She lifted a brow, gossip written into her expression. “Tell me all about what case you’re working on right now. You trackin’ down a murderer or a drug dealer or busting up some major crime family? I want all the gory details.”

A light chuckle rumbled out, and I scratched at the stubble coating my jaw as I sat back in the booth, slanting her a smile. “Now why would you want me to go and drag you into my mess?”

Something wry tipped up at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, I’m pretty sure just about any girl this side of the pacific would be happy for you to drag her into your mess.” She waved an indulgent hand behind her. “Look at all these ladies . . . every single one of them who isn’t here with someone has clocked you.”

I laughed and took a sip of my beer. “Hardly.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, big guy.” She rubbed my shoulder, the way she always did, nothing to it, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the ripple of jealousy that suddenly shocked through the dense, hazy air.

Anger surging, scratching its way through the atmosphere.

Bitter unease clawed inside of me, and I glanced to the side of Mirena in time to catch Clarissa pushing through the thick crowd, hips swaying from side-to-side, long, dark hair flowing all around her.

Tension knotted my shoulders, and I blew out a heavy gush of air that was nothing but guilt and remorse.

Last thing I wanted to deal with tonight was Clarissa.

Mirena followed my gaze, almost wincing when she saw her striding our way. All the easiness she’d been wearing earlier vanished.

Suffice it to say Mirena wasn’t exactly Clarissa’s biggest fan.

“Just let me know if you need anything else. I’ll get out of your way.”

She backed away, and a lithe body dressed in black leather pants and a flimsy white blouse that exposed one shoulder slipped into the booth next to me.

Clarissa sent me one of her coy, sexy smiles, like she was expecting me to be happy to see her waltzing in like this.

All sexpot mouth and curvy hips.

“Clarissa,” I said, not having the first clue what I was supposed to say. Not after this week. Not after seeing Izzy twice.

Guilt climbed my throat. No. Not because I was doing Clarissa some wrong by going to Izzy’s tomorrow and, like a fool, praying it led to somewhere good.

It was sitting there wondering what Izzy would think if she saw her snuggled up to my side.

“Hi, baby,” she purred.

I cringed, hating when she called me that. More than ever tonight.

Not when it felt like everything I knew as my normal had been knocked to the right. Thrown off-balance.

Blood pounding with the need to get inside a tight, warm body. To feel hands on my skin. A mouth moving with mine.

To give a big middle finger to all the bullshit and questions and sum of my past, and go after the one thing in the world that had ever made me feel like I could be a better man. The person who had made me a better man, even when that better would never be good enough.

And it definitely wasn’t Clarissa that fit that bill.

But that was my fault, wasn’t it?

I’d used her just as badly as she’d used me. But I couldn’t seem to stop torturing myself by going to her again and again.

Nothing but a bad reminder of every mistake I’d made.

Like I felt this intrinsic need to keep one foot firmly planted in the past.

“Where have you been?” she asked, words a flirty pout. As flirty as her hand that was suddenly squeezing my upper thigh. “I’ve missed you.”